


Lullabies Don't Work

by artontrial



Category: Voltron: Defender of the Universe (1984), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, AlternateUniverse, College, M/M, collegeAU, klance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-28
Updated: 2017-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-19 23:14:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11323728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artontrial/pseuds/artontrial
Summary: Keith hasn't been able to shake the car crash that killed his parents when he was around 8 years old. Though he'll never admit to it, pushing people away seems to be a side effect to his depression, and the lack of sleep doesn't seem to help.Lance seems bright and charming on the outside, and that's exactly what he wants you to see. Though what he's pushing down is a lack of self esteem and self control. If he makes people smile on the outside, then what's the real harm right?College AU where Keith and Lance learn how to open up and learn about each other what they would never tell themselves.





	Lullabies Don't Work

Chapter 1: 

 

Noise. It started black, rough, like sand caught in the back of your throat. It was loose and wavering, and it started to build. Screaming, he realized, he was screaming. It was almost quiet until his eyes were wide and his ears weren’t numb and the sand in the back of Keith’s throat was pouring out of his mouth, because he had finally woken himself up from the terror.

 

He stopped when he realized his chest was empty. He sat up, black hair sticking to his forehead in a cold sweat. His chest was heaving and there was spit at the corner of his mouth, the pale hands that were clenched at his chest reached up and roughly wiped it away. He was quick, and jerky, his movements in a rush. His hands turned into fists to stop from shaking. He hates when they shake.

He collected himself for a moment, his eyes glanced sharply at the clock near the bed. 

4am.

 

“Fuck.” 

 

Keith felt the sheets behind him, realizing just how wet he made the bed.

 

 _“Fuck.”_ And the light turned on, his palm slicking the lamp as he pushed himself off the bed with the other. 

 

The dimply lit apartment casted a yellow light on his sick face, causing him to squint while making his way to the bathroom. He might vomit, he’s not sure. He can’t remember if this time the car had actually flipped.

The bathroom light made his eyes close, and a reeling headache filled his ears. Knuckles hit porcelain before the pounding fades, and the heaving ran dry as his throat failed to comply with his stomach. 

Yes, the answer was yes.

The car flipped, but it didn’t land.

 

Staring up at the toilet handle, he flushed the saliva and blood that did fall into the water, and wiped his mouth again. He hadn’t actually puked up blood, he realized, but the inside of his cheek seemed to be split open along with his lip.

 

This happened every once in awhile, but not as often as it used to. After his parents died, Keith had the dream about the car crash for a week straight, refusing to eat or sleep unless someone forced him to. His older brother normally was the one who handed him pieces of his own lunch or a blanket when he drifted off on the couch. Keith wasn’t sure how he managed to sleep himself, but then again he wasn’t really sure if Shiro actually had. He always assumed he did, probably after he eventually complied.

 

After that, the crash happened about once a month. He relived the moment for years, waking in a cold sweat, or in tears. His brother normally waking to him screaming before Keith himself woke to it. It quieted down right before he got to college. He had agreed to call Shiro whenever it happened, just in case he needed something, but the truth was he only ever called if he was convinced he couldn’t handle it himself. And at this point, he had handled three in a row without need of a call, so this time shouldn’t be any different. Minus the blood.

 

Keith looked in the mirror and stared at the cut on his bottom lip. He must’ve been biting down before the car had hit. He licked the inside of his mouth to feel the scars that had formed there over the years. The newest one sore and bitter tasting. His eyes were tired, the blue underneath them a telling sign, but there wasn’t much he could do about it now, because he sure as hell wasn’t going back to bed. His chest was covered in red scratches, indicating that he needed to cut his nails shorter, because right now they still worked in his sleep.

 

He grabbed at the handles of the sink and splashed water on his face before walking back into his dimly lit bedroom and stripping the wet sheets off his bed. The clock read 4:10, and Keith turned the clock to face the wall. The green light was making his head throb. 

 

He threw the sheets in the corner of his room and stared at the heap for a moment before he decided against his own stubbornness.

 

He grabbed his phone from the nightstand and quickly dialed his brother before he could decide against it. Two rings in and there was a voice.

 

“Keith?” He sounded like was already up, how the fuck was he already up?

“Yeah,” his own voice was cracked and hoarse, he turned the phone away so he could cough without Shiro hearing.

“Everything alright?” There was worry in his voice, which made Keith regret his decision almost immediately. But there he was, and he couldn’t lie to his brother if he tried. And he has.

“Uh, no? No not really.” The cough didn’t do anything, his voice was still scratched.

“Do you need me to come get you?” He could hear shuffling on the other end, and a clang of keys coming off of a hook.

“No! No you don’t have to, I just-” Keith paused and took in a shaky breath. He hates when his lungs did this. It’s like they gave up before he even got the chance to. “It just happened again, so I just, called.”

He could hear Shiro closing a door, most likely stopping himself from already preparing to come get him. “Are your sheets wet?”

Keith groaned and wiped his hand over his face. He felt like a child. “Yes, I already stripped them.” At least he didn’t wet them like he used to. 

“Did you eat something?” 

“No.”

“You should eat something.” He swore it was like he was his dad sometimes.

“It’s four am.” He looked over at his alarm clock that was turned to the wall then back at the pile of sheets.

“Still morning, eat breakfast. Then take a shower and go outside. Don’t stay in that apartment of yours cooped up, it won’t help anything.”

“Shiro-” 

“And if you need me to come get you I can, I already went to the gym, Allura is fine by herself.”

“Shiro I-”

“You need to make sure you take care of yourself Keith, I know how you get when this happens.”

He gave up trying to fight it. “Where am I supposed to go at 4am?” He looked down at his boxers and pale legs. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to put on pants, never mind take a shower, get dressed, or eat breakfast. 

“Take a walk around campus. It’s huge there Keith, Altea University isn’t going to ban you for walking at the crack ass of dawn.”

“Speaking of, why are you up at the crack ass of dawn?”

“Answering you.”

“No shit.”

His brother laughed at that, which made Keith smile despite his pounding head. “I couldn’t sleep either, so I went to the gym at 3.” 

“Jesus Christ Shiro.”

“It really isn’t that bad, I don’t have work till 5 tonight so I have time to catch some shut eye.”

“Does Allura know you’re up?” 

“Hopefully she won’t find out while I’m still awake.”

Keith snorts, “Cowards way out.”

“Hey, she’s scary when she’s nagging me.”

“Yeah well you two have that trait in common.” Keith heard a grunt in response, which means he knows he’s right but won’t admit it because he’s older.

“Seriously, go eat something and go outside.”

“Okay, alright.” Keith made his way back into the bathroom.

“Call me if you need anything.”

“Yup.” He turned the shower on and hung up the phone. He stared at the water before taking off his boxers and stepping in.

The flood seemed inviting for once, drifting down instead of seeping out.

 

***

 

Lance woke to Hunk snoring. He opened one eye to see his roommate flopped on his back on the floor near his bed with food magazines sprawled around him, accompanied by scissors, glue, a half finished poster board, and an empty tray of what used to be gluten free chocolate chip cookies that they had both eaten last night. 

It made Lance laugh, at how easily Hunk could fall asleep on a class project without realizing in the middle of the night where he was. He could never do that himself. Not because he couldn’t sleep on the floor or because he hasn’t fallen asleep while doing a project - he had done that plenty of times - but because he had always woken up at least once in the middle of the night to make sure he is where he was in the first place. 

It probably had to do with growing up with so many siblings pulling pranks on him while he slept, or siblings waking him up because they were scared of lightening or the dark or just couldn’t sleep without someone else there. He was just used to doing one quick check, dead center of his sleep pattern. 

But seeing Hunk spread eagle on the floor was a sight for sore eyes, and he was happy he got to witness it.

He yawned and leaned forward, spreading his arms out wide to stretch his upper body. His back was sore from swimming in the rec center yesterday. He wasn’t sure how many laps he ended up doing, but he does remember Hunk having to come by to remind him he had a 8am class the next day. 

 

He swam when he was trying to work things out in his head. Most of the time he came off as arrogant or egotistical, he knew this, and good people, like Hunk, see the charm in it. Hunk understood what Lance can bring to the table. Other people, well, not so much. Like his history professor. Mr. A did not see the humor in Lance’s twelve page essay on why the American Revolution was a total waste of time and effort and why everyone should’ve stayed under British rule because the accents are way cooler. 

Despite all the hard work and correct citations, he still received a resounding D after careful bargaining. He was told that he “didn’t take the work seriously enough” and to go sit down in his seat.

 

Lance thought college would be different than high school. It was, in most ways, but in disappointing his teachers, well, that was the same.

 

So he had gone to the rec center and swam it off. He couldn’t let people know that what his teacher said had actually bothered him. He laughed it off, said a joke, and brushed it aside. It was easier that way, for other people’s benefit. He also didn’t want to dwell on it forever. And the best way to work through it was to physically take it out on himself, and he did that best when swimming. 

 

After scratching the back of his head and feeling something wet and slick peel off the corner of his mouth, he realized he forgot to take off his face mask before falling asleep. 

 

“Tragic.” He sighed, peeling it off of the rest of his face, and revealing glowing tan skin. Hunk turned in his sleep, mumbled something incomprehensible and snorted before resuming to his restless slumber. Lance hated to have to wake the poor guy up, but he knew Hunk would throw a fit if he missed another 8am class. It was still the add drop period for classes, so he knew Hunk was very particular about making a good impression on any and all of his new teachers. Lance on the other hand, had to repeat the same History class due to his failure to “take things seriously.” 

He didn’t really have a choice with first impressions. 

 

Lance stared at Hunk for one last moment before jumping out of bed and sitting on Hunk’s side. 

“Wakey wakey you big handsome marshmallow!” He wiggled his hips to jostle Hunk around before he opened his eyes in a brief panic. 

“Huh! Wha-” He looked up at Lance before his pupils returned back to normal and he groaned loudly, shutting his eyes. “Oh god, did I finish the project? Please tell me I finished the project.” Lance looked over at his pile of glue and card stock. 

“Looks finished to me.” Lance laughed as Hunk spun his head around to look at his work, groaning louder.

“I should’ve never trusted you,” he mumbled.

Lance jumped up and pressed a hand to his chest, in mock offense. “¿Cómo te atreves?” He leaned forward dramatically. “It is your fault for not clarifying who’s definition of finished you wanted.” 

Hunk sat up, glitter covering his hair, which caused Lance to laugh yet again. He couldn’t help it, Hunk was adorably hilarious. At Lance’s resounding laughter, Hunk didn’t even bother to act angry, he just laughed with him.

“I have glitter in my hair don’t I?” He asked, reaching up to brush it out.

“No!” Lance held his hands out. “Stay right there.” Leaving his best friend to watch his tan legs rush into his closet and come out with his polaroid camera. “Smile, you beautiful chunky fairy.” Hunk complied, throwing up a peace sign as Lance captured the picture. He pulled out the picture and started shaking it. “Hunk, my man, you are a sight for sore eyes.” Which was so unbelievably true. 

Hunk was the person Lance could always go to, no matter what time of day, and he would always be there to bring a smile to his face or just laugh at him when he was being exceptionally dramatic. 

“Let me see.” Hunk reached out his hand as he clumsily stood up, brushing off his pants with the other. 

Lance held out the picture so they could both see Hunk slowly showing up on the strip, sitting in the pile of his project. His hair was sticking up from the flat spot on the back, and glitter covered not only his scalp but also his forehead and nose. 

“Oh my god, I’m a mess.” Hunk’s voice was strained, but a smile was plastered across his face.

“Oh this is nothing,” Lance said, handing Hunk the photo. “Compared to Pidge pulling an all nighter to complete their mechanics final.” He moved to the closet again to put away the camera and pull on some fresh socks. Hunk made a face then, one that resembled awe and disgust. 

“I was both proud and terrified of them.”

Lance didn’t bother changing out of his shirt and shorts, he would change after his morning run. He pulled on his sneakers and nodded to Hunk, remembering the look on their small friend’s face when they guzzled a double shot of espresso at 3am. “They slapped their hand over my mouth whenever they wanted me to be quiet,” his stood, grabbing his keys, “which was incredibly _rude_.”

“Yeah but they do that to you even when their not sleep deprived.”

“Still _rude_ Hunk.” He twirled his keys on his finger. “You still gonna try to cram that project in before class?” He knew he had time, it was only quarter of 7. 

Hunk looked over his shoulder at the mess on the floor. “Yeah, I think so.” He looked back at Lance. “Meet you in the cafe after first class?” 

Lance pointed finger guns at Hunk and winked. “You got it buddy,” he kicked the door open behind him and backed up without breaking eye contact until he spun around and kicked the door closed. 

 

***

 

Keith was sitting on a park bench in the center of campus. The sun had come up when he first left his apartment, slowly creeping into the sky and settling there as he had walked around, trying to clear his head. There weren’t a lot of people around, but he definitely wasn’t the only one up at the time. His brother was right, per usual.

 

The pond in front of him gleamed a bit, and there were a few geese that swam around in front of him. He can’t remember when he stopped walking, but he did know that his headache had decreased enough where he could think more clearly. His hands were shoved in the pockets of his hoodie that he grabbed before leaving his room, and he was fully aware about the bags under his eyes, but he didn’t really care. He was just glad his mind had finally strayed from-

 

He flicked a piece of grass off the bench. 

He wasn’t going to think about it. 

 

His legs started to warm a bit under his jeans, not uncomfortably, he was used to wearing jeans even in gross heat anyway. His shoes were beat up, the converse worn at the heals and edges. The shoe laces a dull grey instead of a white they once were. He probably should get new ones, but he didn’t really have the money, or the patience to go get them. He could order them online, but then again it was easier to just not do that. 

One of the geese squawked and he stared at it, watching as it flapped its wings at another geese, seemingly trying to get it out of that particular territory. Keith snorted, finding it ridiculous how geese could seem to bicker. 

His eyes moved to across the lake where he could see students walking or running, more of them out than earlier. He checked the time on his phone, 6:57. He clicked it off and shoved it back in his pocket. He couldn’t remember if he had an 8am class or not, but he had time to figure it out. 

His gen eds were exceptionally annoying, considering he had no interest in anything ever. He had to take them however, because that was his exact problem. 

He was undeclared because he had no fucking _clue_ what he wanted to do with his life. The only reason he even got into Altea University was because it was in state and he got free tuition because of the adoption process or whatever, and a good track scholarship he received in high school. 

It was circumstantial, so he took the opportunity, with a lot of pushing from Shiro’s end. He didn’t even want to go to college. He was planning on going into the air force at some point. A long, fleeting dream he had ever since he was little. 

The first year he had compromised with his brother to take online classes, but after awhile he was pushed into having the real college experience.

He also knew that Shiro was moving in with Allura, and Keith needed to start to learn how to live on his own. He’d been doing that mentally for years, but still.

 

College seemed more practical though, and he brother was adamant about him getting a good education. He was always reminding Keith about how smart he was. 

He knew he was smart, he wasn’t going to deny that, but he didn’t see how that helped him out in the real world. Book smart and common sense didn’t really go hand and hand with him. 

 

He was great at almost every subject without trying, and that got boring. High school got boring, hell, even college was starting to get boring once the first week novelty wore off. A new place and new people had the prospect of being exciting, but Keith wasn’t good at making friends, and the relocation of his person wasn’t really going to change the fact that he was antisocial. 

He also had the issue of acting out on impulse. He may be smart in school but Shiro always scolded him for getting into trouble with other kids. He’d gotten into more fights than he can remember, and it didn’t help that he wasn’t good with social cues. Someone said something that made him snap, they took it the wrong way, he didn’t have the patience, and then he would snap. With his fist. On their face. 

Most of the time he didn’t feel guilty, he only felt guilty for _not_ feeling guilty. 

But he always felt bad for letting his brother down. 

 

Shiro does so much for him, and he should probably thank him more. He scuffed the heel of his shoe at that thought, leaving a mental note to call him later like he promised.

 

He thoughts drifted off into a steady stream of nothing, eyes unfocused across the pond, people watching if anything. He followed a runner as he jogged at a distance, tan, almost dark skinned legs and a blue baseball tee shirt clinging to the guy’s chest. 

Guy? Guy. He was assuming. Slim torso though.

His eyes followed as the runner came down the ramp to the left and headed across the pond. His breath was steady, chest clearly rising up and down. His stride was long, though he wasn’t going very fast. 

Keith wondered two things. 1. How anyone would actually, willingly, get up this early in the morning to run and 2. How someone’s legs could be that long. 

He watched as the guy crossed in front of the pond, and turned right onto the bridge that connected the area Keith was currently looking at and the area Keith was currently sitting in. 

 

He realized he should stop staring because his head was beginning to turn, and Keith was _not_ about to give one of those awkward head nods, or god forbid, a smile, like normal people do when their eyes cross. So instead he looked down at his phone, checking the time again, 7:15.

He must’ve been spacing out for a bit. He checked his schedule to see that he did in fact have an 8am class. He normally would’ve groaned at that, but he was thankful for having something to actually be awake for, other than the prospect of going back to sleep. He glanced away from his phone to think. He could either head for his class now, or he could sit at the pond and risk making awkward eye contact with a random runner with really long legs and a nice upper body.

A really nice upper body.

He clicked his phone again and shoved it in his pocket.

Keith stood up and turned right.  His hair was probably a mess, considering he didn’t brush it before he left, and his breath was bad because he also didn’t think to brush his teeth. He touched his lip that was still split open from biting it in his sleep. The tang of blood was still there at the back of his throat. 

Fuck it honestly though, he didn’t have anyone to impress. 

He still didn’t like when people stared at him though, and considering the growing amount of students he saw walking around campus, he found it best to vacate the open area. 

 

As he walked away from the bench however, he didn’t hear the heavy thuds of footsteps and steady breathing until right before his shoulder collided with someone in a blue tee shirt and warm skin.

 

“Shit, I’m sorry man.” A hand was on Keith’s arm, as the runner steadied himself. Keith eyed the hand on his shoulder before they moved to meet the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He froze. “You okay? I didn’t see you.” They were like snow. No, maybe water. 

His legs were glued to the ground, his arm went stiff. He wasn’t prepared to talk to anyone. He didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t rehearsed anything in his head, not like he normally did that. Actually maybe he did, but only with strangers he found remotely attractive or when he was waiting in line to buy coffee.

 His eyes flickered from the guy’s eyes to his lips to his jawline then back up to his eyes. Definitely water. His mouth was dry. 

Then the guy laughed, fucking _laughed_ like there were bells in his throat or something. 

His own throat closed in on himself. “I get in this weird zone you know, like tunnel vision.” The guy plastered a smile on his face, his forehead shining with sweat along with his collarbones. He was fucking _gorgeous_. 

And that kinda pissed Keith off. 

“Yeah, just watch where you’re going next time.” Keith took the guy’s hand off his shoulder.

The guys face fell, only for a fraction of a second. He could see it in his eyes. Like the ocean. Shit. 

His smile was still there though. “Oh don’t worry, I won’t.” He was about to turn away -- escape the situation, escape from embarrassing himself further by staring at long tall and handsome -- when the words hit him, “It won’t be hard to miss that haircut.”  

He stopped turning to glare at the runner. His eyes were devilish now. Ones that were teasing. _Fucking-_  

_“What?”_

“Not a lot of people have a freaking mullet these days. I thought you were my uncle Marcus for a second there, stuck in the 80s, you know.” His smile turned to more of a smirk. He could see it written all over the guy’s face. He was teasing him, and he was cocky about it. He was a hot sweaty cocky runner who was teasing him. And he was still attractive while doing it.

What the _fuck_.

When Keith was too shocked to say something back, he scowled, and started to walk away.

“Won’t miss that frown any time soon either. Did you buy that thing? It must’ve been expensive.” Keith whipped around, getting a good look at the guy.

“What the hell is your problem?” He had a hand on his hip and he was grinning from ear to ear. What kind of egotistical asshole puts his hand on his hip while teasing someone? Keith was gay as all hell but even he didn’t do that. He still stared a bit longer than he should’ve.

 

“Nothing, just wondering where I can get a halloween mask as good at yours. I mean, I don’t normally celebrate holidays all year around, but I guess Halloween is a big thing for you guys.” Keith stopped being angry for a moment to try to understand what he was saying.

“You guys? What-” 

“You know, the emo folk.” 

Keith’s eyes grew wide, he could feel it. His cheeks flushed red with newfound anger and embarrassment. He spun on his heel and turned away, walking faster now to his next class.

“Hey mullet!” He ignored him. “What’s your name?!” He walked faster. His face was getting warmer.

 What a dick. A ocean blue eyed _dick_.

 

***

Lance stared after the boy with skinny jeans and an exceptionally great ass. He laughed so hard his lungs hurt. He couldn’t believe the guy fucking _pouted_ before stomping away. It was so childish and completely adorable. 

The mess of black hair vanished off to the Humanities and Fine Arts college where he assumed his next class would be. He grinned, something along the lines of shit eating, and turned to continue running. 

He hadn’t meant to hit the guy, really, it just happened. It wasn’t entirely his fault anyway, the kid basically pivoted out of the bench like it was his job.

He does get tunnel vision though, he didn’t lie. When he runs, it’s like everything else is blocked out. It’s just him and the steady beat of his shoes on the ground.

 

But my god did mullet stop him.

 

When he crashed into him, three things came to his mind.

Hot boy

Mullet

How can someone who has a mullet be that hot while that fucking pissed off?

 

He reminded him of Pidge when they get exceptionally annoyed with Lance. But that level of anger normally takes Lance hours to get out of his friend. That took seconds. It was incredible. A new record. He couldn’t wait to tell Hunk.

Granted, the guy was probably already pissed off. There were dark circles under his eyes like he hadn’t slept in weeks, and his pale skin didn’t really help him out. But his eyes were fucking purple like black and blue and brown or some galaxy shit. And his freckles were spread around his face like a freckle goddess had come down and bless him specifically with having a great face.

But his lip was busted open like he fell unto a table or recently got into a fist fight, and his knuckles seemed beat up under those black gloves he was wearing. He snorted out loud. Who the hell wears gloves like that at 7am? 

It did kind of suit him though. It was a bad boy look people try to pull off but fail at because the models they see in magazines have professionals to make them look good and the everyday public do not.

But boy did that guy look hot. 

 

Lance jogged slower now, coming to a stop outside of the Management building, and shoving his arm to open the door. Sweet, wonderful AC greeted him and filled his lungs as he stepped inside.

 

***

 

Lance swept through the cafe’s doors, arms open wide and hair wet, announcing his presence in a bright pink t shirt and lime green shorts. He grinned wildly when he spotted Pidge in their usual spot, in the far left corner, huddled behind a computer screen. 

“How’s my little gremlin?” Lance approached his small friend, who reached all but 5’4”, well past puberty, and not growing any time soon. Pidge pegged him off in greeting and continued tapping on their computer. Their hazel eyes seemed to shine as they flickered back and forth in front of the screen. 

“What, no formal introduction?” Lance sat down and leaned over the table, chins resting on his hands.

“Is fuck you an introduction?” Pidge spoke without looking up. Their hair was a mess, Lance noticed the collar of their shirt was covered in a cheese like residue, as if they had eaten cheetos at 4am. Again. 

“Only if you follow through with that statement.” Lance wiggled his eyebrows and Pidge scoffed, making an unpleasant sound in their throat, and looking Lance dead in the eyes for the first time since he sat down. 

“With a self righteous wet noodle that looks like the half breed of a anti aging cream sales associate and the sister of a middle school spanish introductory video? No thanks.”

Lance’s eyes widened at that, a small smirk creeping at the corner of his friend’s lips. “I hope you mean to say that I am the sister of a _high school_ spanish introductory video, have you no mercy?” He points at Pidge, millimeters from their nose, “You know how fragile I am.”

Without hesitation, Pidge bites his finger and laughs as he pulls his hand back, shaking his wrist for the sting to go away. They bit like a madman.

“No, I mean middle school. Ho-la, me llam-o Ca-treeen.” Pidge mocks in a god awful English accent, pronouncing the double ll’s as a single luh and emphasis on the t. 

Lance groaned and slapped his hands over his face. “¿Por qué tienes que insultarme?” He grumbled as Pidge tapped a few more keys quickly, like they had done it a thousand times before, because they had.

“Because you’re overdramatic and I would never have sex with a diva.” They smacked the computer closed at that and put it in their book bag. “Now go get me a coffee, no milk, double shot of espresso.

Lance looked up between his fingers. “Now hold on a sec-”

“Three sugars.”

“But-”

“No, I won.”

“You did _not_ -”

“Por fa _vor_.” Pidge smirked, purposely speaking in that thick accent just to piss Lance off.

Lance squinted at the demon who was sitting across from him and thrust his pelvis out of the chair first, his upper body following. He held his gaze for a few steps, moving toward the counter before whipping around and going to get them and himself a coffee. 

 

After ordering, he came back with two similar coffees, a third for Hunk, and a pout at the failed attempt at flirting with the barista. He slid the coffee over to Pidge who was giving him an unimpressed look over the rim of their glasses. 

“She’s never going to say yes,” they say, sipping their addiction in a cup.

“You don’t know that! One of these days she’ll come around.” Lance lifting his coffee to take a sip when Pidge snorted and almost choked on their drink. 

 _“What?”_ Lance sputtered.

Pidge wiped their mouth with their sleeve, gathering yet another stain, and regained their composure.

“I’m pretty sure writing ‘asshole’ on your cup is enough to confirm my statement.” Lance’s eyes widened as he looks at the back of his cup and then whipped around over his shoulder to the barista, and then back at that cup. 

“Wha- I- She- !” 

“She’s not into you dude.” Pidge finished for him. He looked up at them, mouth wide open, and there was that gleam in their eyes that Lance almost hated, but admired more. He didn’t understand how someone so small could hold that much bitter, dry, humor. 

He blamed the coffee. 

Before he could say something to cover his utter embarrassment, a large warm hand clapped his shoulder and Hunks voice filled the atmosphere. 

“Hey guys!” 

Lance turned his head over his shoulder and looked up to his friend in desperation.

“Hunk, tell Pidge I’m a lovable charismatic misunderstood individual that most people overlook and confuse with being a douchebag.” He added puppy dog eyes for good measure. Hunk didn’t even look at him before responding.

“Did he try to flirt with Lauren again?” 

“Yup.”

Lance sighed loudly and flopped his head down on the table, his arms covering his face. He heard Hunk sit down next to him and take a sip from the coffee he had bought for him.

“Who do I thank for the coffee?” 

Lance waved his hand for a moment without looking up, mumbling something along the lines of “I didn’t lose,” which was overheard by Pidge saying “He lost, again.”

“Figures. You’ve been having a streak recently, nice job!” Lance lifted his head to see them high five.

“He makes it easy,” Pidge said, grinning devilishly.

“I did not lose _anything_.” Lance groaned.

“It’s okay, thanks for the coffee bud.” Hunk patted his back before taking another sip. 

 

This was their system. Whenever their schedules lined up for them to have coffee before or after first period, two of them tended to be there first. In which case, their introductory conversation eventually led to someone losing, and loser buys all three coffees before the third arrives.

How someone could lose at a conversation, Lance had no idea. 

Though when he was the winner, he had to admit, it seemed extremely clear. 

 

However, Lance had been the loser for the past three days and his pout had grown more and more childlike as the losses hit him. It was unfair, he had been faced with Pidge every single one of those days, and Pidge was _ruthless_. 

He had a feeling that when Hunk and Pidge were the first to meet up, they played rock paper scissors instead of actually going by the rules, which was _double_ unfair. Pidge denied it, but Hunk bit his fingernails when he was uncomfortable, and when Lance had accused them of cheating, it was like Hunk’s new favorite flavor of anything ever was worn fingernails and nervous glances. 

He could never stay mad at Hunk though. Besides, Hunk was the easiest to beat. All you had to do was stump him with a riddle and he would admit defeat. 

 

“So how was first period?” Lance was spinning his coffee cup on the table, staring at the word ‘asshole’ neatly printed across the side. Hunk was always the first to start the normal conversation, though sometimes things strayed from the topic. In this case, immediately.

 

“Speaking of asshole!” Lance shot straight up, a grin plastered across his face again. He lifted the coffee cup to his lips and took a swig. “I bumped into a kid with a mullet today.”

Hunk was frowning at him, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Lance, someone having a mullet doesn’t make them an asshole.” 

“I know Hunk, don’t worry.” He put his coffee down and leaned forward, fully invested in his own story. “I bumped into this moody kid when I was running, and you know how I get when I’m running right? Tunnel vision.”

“Dickhead vision,” Pidge interjected. Lance waved his hand at them.

“Tunnel vision. Anyway, I was in the zone, and I hit him in the shoulder, not that hard, it was fine, but I apologized, because that’s just who I am. Mind you this kid is hot, like Cole Sprouse hot, but more moody with dark hair and a better jawline and-

“We get it.” Pidge raised an eyebrow.

“Right okay. Anyway, I _apologize_ and he fucking scowls at me, like he’d never seen a puppy in his life.”

“Did you make a dumb joke?”

“So I made a joke.”

“Called it.” 

“Pidge please.” 

They held up their hands in defeat. “Sorry, proceed.” 

“So I made a joke, and he retaliated, pretty poorly might I add, and then I made a _better one_ and he fucking _stomps away_. It was priceless.”

Hunk hummed thoughtfully at that, rubbing his chin. “I still don’t see why he’s the asshole. You were the one who bumped into him.”

Lance scoffed at that. “I apologized! And my jokes are hilarious Hunk, anyone who doesn’t laugh at them is an asshole.”

“I take offense to that.”

“Pidge you love my jokes, you just suppress the laughter behind the millions of souls you’ve collected over the years.” Pidge pondered at that.

“You’re not entirely wrong.” Lance leaned back and held his hand out to Pidge. 

“See, point proven. Anyone who doesn’t laugh at my jokes, besides a demon gremlin hybrid-”

“Watch it-”

“Is an asshole.” Lance crossed his arms and smiled to himself. “Even if he was a hot emo.”

Pidge’s eyes lit up at that, a flicker of recognition across their face.

“Wait, did you just say a hot _emo_?”

Lance squinted at them. “Uh, yes?”

“With a mullet?”

“Yes, I believe that was the most interesting part of the whole experience. What’s the problem?”

Pidge quickly pulled out their phone and started tapping almost violently. “I swear to god-” They were mumbling under their breath and Lance sat forward again. 

“Wait, do you know this kid?” 

Hunk leaned forward too. “This should be interesting.” Good old Hunk, sweet sincere, wholesome Hunk. He sounded way to kind.

“Was he wearing bikers gloves?” Pidge asked, without looking up from their phone.

“Is that what they were? I thought they were just for the whole “I’m moody and I listen to screamo on repeat” aesthetic.”

Pidge clicked their phone and slapped it on the table. 

“For once, Lance is right. This guy's an asshole.”

“Ha!” Lance fist bumped the air and then slammed it on the table. “I knew it!” 

Pidge shot him a look that told him they were genuinely pissed off, so he coughed and lowered his voice a few octaves. 

“Why, is mullet an asshole, exactly?”

Pidge sighed, and rested their chin on their hand. “The mullet head you're talking about is named Keith.”

 Keith. Huh. That was his name. Good name for an emo kid. 

“He was my best friend in high school, kind of like family friends.” Pidge looked down at their phone and scowled. He didn’t like the look of an upset Pidge. “His brother and my brother were tight as fuck. Anyway, he didn’t _tell_ me he was coming to Altea University. Which makes him an asshole. A big _fucking_ asshole.”

“Well you are in a program ahead of us Pidge, what if it's his first year here?” Hunk tried to alleviate their anger.

“Bullshit.” So much for that. “That kid is as smart as me. Just not in Technical Engineering.” Pidge swigged the rest of their coffee before picking up their phone again and typing twice as fast as before, if that was even possible. 

“Maybe he took a year off?” Hunk tried again. Lance was playing eyeball tennis, from Pidge, to Hunk, to Pidge again. He was eating this up. If some asshole with a mullet knew Pidge and was actually an asshole, then he would soon have a new objective. No one fucked with his friends. They were the only people who put up with him. 

“Also Bullshit.” Pidge set their phone down again. “This is our sophomore year, first semester. If he was taking a year off, he would’ve told me.” Pidge lifted their cup to their lips again, to find it was empty, and slammed it on the table again. “Or maybe he _wouldn’t_ considering he didn’t tell me he was even here.”

At that, Pidge’s phone rang, and their eyes flickered to the buzz so fast that Lance didn’t have time to process what happening until they saw them stand up quickly and grab their bag. Surprisingly, a grin was lighting up their face. One that read “this bitch is about to get an ass whooping.” 

Lance only ever received that grin once in his life, and for a split second he felt pity for emo Keith who was about to get ripped a new anus.

“I’ll see you guys later.” And Lance watched as Pidge tore out of the cafe, holding their phone to their ear as they hit the pickup button.

 

***

“Are you fucking _KIDDING me Kogane_?” Keith grimaced at the sound of Pidge’s voice. He knew he was in deep shit. 

“Pidge I-” 

“You fucking go to _fucking_ Altea University, for one whole _fucking_ year without even telling me? _No_ contact. _No_ text messages.”

“I just-” 

“And no! Tumblr memes don’t _FUCKING COUNT_.” He could hear the bite in their voice. For the first time in his life, he never feared more of someone who he considered a best friend. 

“Pidge, I know, I’m sorry! I can explain, I-” He was sprinting out of the dining hall. He was in the middle of brooding over his first period poetry class - which was a total bust - and downing a cup of black coffee in hopes to wake himself up more, when his phone blew up with two extremely long and colorfully language text messages. He knew from the second he saw the phrase “bowl of soggy cat shit” who it was from and what he was about to face.

“Oh you better.” Their voice wavered in wet anger. 

They were going to cry. 

Oh god.

He was going to make Pidge cry. 

“No, _nononono_ Pidge, seriously, where are you right now, I need to-” Just as he was about to cross in front of the dining hall, a body crashed into him alarmingly hard and slammed him to the ground. He looked up to see a red faced Pidge with a phone in their hand, which they swiftly and angrily hung up and shoved in their pocket. 

“Explain yourself.” They said, tears daring to peek out of the corners of their eyes. 

Keith’s heart snapped at that very moment. 

Pidge was like his sibling. They had practically grown up together since the age of 8. Their brothers became friends first, which the two still hold against them. They were constantly battling to see who were the better set of friends. Keith and Pidge always argued that knowing someone for longer doesn’t mean you’re closer, which they still stand by. 

But Keith felt like a terrible friend right now. 

Pidge was the person who had pulled him out of his depression after the car accident. They were the one who made him go out, actually talk to people, even though they were both antisocial. They had known when and how to get Keith off his ass and face the real world when he really truly felt like dying. They had known he needed the extra push. They had known when and how to push him without making him snap. They were also the ones who always knew what food to bring over when he was feeling particularly moody and when to just sit and let him brood over stupid shit, only talking to tell him to pass the popcorn. They were the only one other than Shiro who understood him, and never ever made him feel like shit.

And now they were looking at him like he purposely broke their heart. 

_Fuck._

Keith stood up and held his hands out tentatively. It was like he was talking someone off of a bridge. Pidge had done that for him too. Metaphorically and literally. 

“I was going to tell you I was here. I just didn’t know when, or-or how to do it.” Pidge stuck their chin up at him, obviously swallowing down the tears lodged in their throat. He kept going, knowing that if he heard their voice crack, he was going to cry too. 

 

That was another thing, Pidge was the only one other than Shiro so ever, ever see him cry.

 

“I took online classes my first year, I didn’t lie to you, I would never lie to you, I swear-”

“Lying by omission is still a thing you _dumb fuck_.” Pidge’s voices hiccuped at the word fuck, which would’ve made him laugh if they weren’t about to cry. 

“I didn’t mean to lie! I just got here last week when classes started and when I applied I didn’t know if I was actually going to get in-” Keith wasn’t good with words, but he knew he was starting to rush them together, trying to get out his explanation as fast as possible. “And then I did and I moved in and I kept picking up my phone to tell you but I just I couldn’t, I..”

 

He hated the feeling of someone being mad at him. He hated Pidge being mad at him. He could never stomach it. Normally he put on this straight face and took the hit. It could take it from teachers and strangers and kids in his class and sometimes even Shiro. He was good at taking hits. But Pidge had this way of making him actually express his emotions, which he fucking hates.

He felt weak, but he owed them this. 

“Oh don’t pull that with me Keith.” He bit his lip and dropped his hands by his side. “You’re nearly as smart as me, and this college practically begged me to let them join their program.”

“I just-” 

They sighed then, a shaky, wet, sigh. “I know how you get. I know that you close people off once it feels like they left you.” Their eyes met him and he could feel a lump rising in his throat. “And I _know_ that you underestimate yourself. You do. You think you’re some stupid kid with anxiety who isn’t worth anyone’s time.” They were right. They were always right. “But I didn’t think you would underestimate _me_. I didn’t know you were going to close yourself off to _me_.”

And them Keith choked. 

The swelling in his throat spilled over, through his cheeks, up his head, and the pressure in his eyes couldn’t hold it in anymore. The red heat of guilt swallowed him and he felt a tear fall down his face. He shoved his palm across his cheek to wipe it away.

 

He hadn’t realized he was shutting himself out. He didn’t mean to. It just happened. 

 

It happened in small ways, like staying up till 4 because he didn’t have anything good to dream about. Like not eating breakfast. Or lunch. Or dinner. Or not charging his phone because he didn’t expect any calls. Like living in a dimly lit apartment and wearing the same outfit three days in a row and not showering and not running and not smiling and-

“I missed you.” They were crying, not bothering to wipe their face.

Keith grabbed Pidge by the arm and tugged them forward in a hug, burying his face in the collar of his shirt. “I missed you too.” And he meant it. He hadn’t realized how much he actually missed them until his heart leapt when he heard them say those words. 

He felt hands wrap around his back as Pidge pressed their face into his chest. He heard them let out a laugh-sob, muffled by their hug. He forgot what it felt like to hug them. It was soft and warm and nothing like what it was like living by himself. 

They stood their like that for a few moments before Pidge pulled away, eyes red, and cheeks flushed, but a look of disapproval on their face. It still wasn’t a good look, but it was better than betrayal, and he’ll take nagging over heartache any day. They pointed a finger at him.

“Don’t ever keep anything from me again.” They poked his chest every other word, and he wasn’t going to admit that it hurt, but their fingers were always the prying type.

“I won’t.” Keith tried to sound as sincere as possible. 

He reached out and wiped their face with his sleeve, knowing they won’t bother to do it themselves. He wondered what he looked like. Lip scarred, sleep deprived, and eyes most likely red. His entire face turned red when he cried, he knew that much. He was so pale that just about any change in mood reflected on his face. 

It was a fucking curse.

Pidge smirked at him then, and relief flooded his system. He breathed out, not knowing his was holding his breath along with the knot in his stomach.

“And to think I found out you were here by a cuban byproduct of ramen noodles.” Keith squinted at them, confused.

“What?”

Pidge waved their arm, as if to flap away the look on his face. Their smile was fully back now. “My friend Lance. He has the arms of a deflated pool float and looks like the poster boy of a Spanish infomercial.” 

Keith laughed before a memory flicked back to the runner he had crashed into near the pond that morning. If his face wasn’t already red enough, he felt heat rising to his cheeks yet again. “He said he bumped into you being emo this morning.” He scowled.

“That dickhead is your friend?” 

“You,” they gave him a look, “should not be talking.” Keith shut his mouth in a tight line. They were right. 

He would bite his tongue at Pidge’s friend choices for now, but he was still trying to rack his brain how not at all attractive runner boy brought him up in conversation. 

“Sorry.” He looked at the ground around him to pick up the bag he had dropped when Pidge pushed him. “I meant to say, latina altar boy is your friend?”

Pidge snorted at that and shrugged. “Yeah he’s kind of a piece of work.” Keith nodded at that.

“Yeah I could tell after he called me a halloween costume.”

“He did not.”

“He did.”

Pidge tilted their head at this, looking him up and down. A light in their eyes told him he was about to be creatively insulted.

“Don’t.”

“You’re more like the guy from Greece who rides his motorcycle in front of the auto mechanics shop so the guys will look at him because that’s the only attention he gets as a closeted gay in 1950s.”

“Choke on a computer chip.”

“Already did that today.” They turned on their heel and started walking, expecting him to follow. Keith dragged his feet in step next to them, shortening his stride to stay in pace. 

“Should I ask how?”

“I was eating cheetos while repairing Rover.” They took a sharp left as Keith raise an eyebrow.

“You still have that old junky computer?”

“Rover is sacred and you know it.” They hopped up a flight of stairs and took a sharp right. Keith huffed as he skipped two and landed on the third to keep up with them. 

They may have short legs but walked like a mom planning on speaking with a manager.

“Okay sure, but- Pidge where are we going?”

They were passing the library now, dead north of campus.

“Do you have any classes for the next two hours?”

“No?”

“Then don’t worry about it.” Keith smiled then, hard as he might fight it. 

This nonchalant and dry witted attitude is what he loved most about Pidge, and what he realized he missed. They never gave him a chance to second guess himself, or them, and though it might piss him off sometimes, he was grateful for it.

He made a mental note to never take them for granted again.

“I won’t.”

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
